


Smiles By Granger, DDS

by Phoebe_M



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_M/pseuds/Phoebe_M
Summary: In order to secure the girl of his dreams, Draco will have to go where he never thought he would go before: the dentist's chair.





	Smiles By Granger, DDS

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> **Update 5 Aug 2018 - this work was originally posted to the currently down Dramione.org. Pen-names and references below are specific to that site.**
> 
> Beta Readers: McCargi
> 
> Inspired by Itsbeenvery’s prompt #102 from the Hawthorn & Vine Treasured Tropes Challenge. @Itsbeenvery, I hope this is along the lines of what you were looking for! I had great fun writing it. I also owe much credit to mccargi for her generous donation of time and smarts to the beta’ing of this fic. Any errors are my own.

“This is awful,” Draco whispered to Hermione as he crossed his arms and pouted in his seat. “I can’t believe you brought me to this thing.”

“It’s not that bad,” she replied. “Besides, you asked to come, I didn’t invite you. Now hush.”

The man on stage speaking at the podium finished his lecture on the benefits of fluoride.

_“… and that is why it is capital, crucial, critical even, that whatever conclusion the patient wishes to craft, it be made at an age young enough for the results to be conducive to a lifetime of capable, clean, conspicuous teeth.”_

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes.

“Is this bloke for real?”

“Draco!” Hermione shushed. “If you want to leave, then go, but I need to be here. I think he’s the last speaker anyway.” He groaned and stretched his neck.

“He had better be,” he muttered darkly. The moderator of the event took the lectern once more.

_“… Thank you Dr. Goolsbey. And now I would like to introduce our final speaker for this afternoon, renowned doctor and author of You and Your Anteriors, my dear colleague Dr. Maximus Paine…”_

“Oh my bloody good night.” Draco swore as he bent forward and held his head in his hands. He would never make it through this seminar in one piece. Surrounded by Muggle dentists in fuck-knows-where Muggle London, there was no way he could leave without her. He lifted his head and looked over at her. She was ignoring him now, taking copious notes on the most unexciting, mind-numbing oration he had ever heard. And he’d been through six years of History of Magic with Professor Binns!

She had owled him on Wednesday to tell him she would be missing their weekly lunch on Friday because of a workshop she needed to attend. Unwilling to sacrifice his time with her, he had rashly insisted on tagging along. He hadn’t known then what he was in for.

_“…the mandibular lower lingual bar and the associating lower anteriors can be a troublesome area for many people, but my independent research has shown a disturbing trend among young adults ages 16-26 in regards to the build-up of calculus as a result of…”_

Four hours they had been sitting in this ballroom. Four! Dodgy looking blokes, most of them be-speckled and greying, surrounded him. They actually seemed to have a clue what the monotonous nutter on stage was raving about, as many of them looked pensive and were nodding along. He was hard pressed to find many other female dentists, and Hermione was surely the only one under forty. He sighed.

“Any other witch but you, Granger, and I’d be requiring a shag for sitting through this wretched drabble.” He said lowly in her ear.

“Malfoy, I swear!” she scolded quietly.

“Okay fine, but at least a bit of playing the skin flute, eh?” The elderly man in the row in front of Draco turned around to look at them. Glancing at Hermione, and then back at Draco, he waggled his eyebrows and gave a lewd smile. Draco smirked and winked lazily at the young woman who looked ready to hex his bits off. She gritted her teeth and glared.

“ _Piss_. _Off_.” She seethed.

"What?" He mouthed, looking innocent. She turned away from him again.

He had learned one thing amidst all of the crazy talk about teeth. His feelings for his best friend were worse than he had originally feared. They had become friends while at university together, but he didn’t start to look at her that way until a rather embarrassing nude incident in his dorm room that left him exposed and painfully hard. After graduation, careers drove their schedules in opposite directions and his desire to be near her all the time grew. He found it odd that he actually missed her, having previously only ever missed his mother.

Sure, they had missed their lunch meetings plenty of times before. It was only natural for their lives to conflict here and there. But this week for the first time, he read her hastily owled excuse and immediately seized up, desperate to find a way around it. And he found one.

It was simple, really. All he had to do was cancel three appointments, move his meetings to Monday, postpone a visit to his mother in France, and take the whole day off work. Like he said, simple.

When she arrived at his flat this morning to pick him up, he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d seen her in Muggle clothes more often than not, but the pencil skirt was new. And tight. And delicious. It was sexy in a way that he didn’t know sexy could be, seeing as the only exposed skin was the lean leg between where her skirt stopped at the knee and her high heel began at the ankle. He had leaned against the frame of his door to take her in fully.

“Well I’ll be Voldemort’s second cousin, Granger. You look good enough to eat.”

Hermione, immune to the barbs, jeers, and general leering he did, brushed off his comments. She had learned years ago that his sexual references and steamy flirting could be chalked up to his naturally lascivious and charming personality.

“Let’s get a move on, you terrible pervert. I don’t want to be late.”

“After you, love.”

She turned on her heel and began to walk away, providing him the opportunity to appreciate her backside as she did. Had he been looking anywhere but her firm arse, he may have noticed her wand coming up over her shoulder to fire a stinging hex at him. With a yelp, he tore his eyes away and caught up with her.

In his seat now, he subconsciously rubbed his left arm when the hex had caught him as he remembered their morning. She was far quicker than she had any right to be.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to thank you for coming today. This concludes our seminar, and we hope you will join us for refreshments just across the…”

“Okay Draco, it’s over you insufferable, petulant child.” She began to gather her things.

He practically leapt to his feet and offered her his hand, pulling her up. They made their way through the sea of people and out into the fresh air. Draco inhaled deeply, relieved to have been set free from the foreign world of plaque and premolars.

“You know, Granger, for someone so brilliant, you have the dullest profession I’ve ever heard of.”

“That’s rich, coming from a man who does nothing but supervise a company that essentially runs itself.”

“Hey, I do things,” he defended. “Important things. I am the name, the face, and the Galleons.” She playfully grabbed his chin in her hand and tilted his head down so he looked at her.

“And what a face it is, too.”

He smiled.

“Aw, thanks Granger. I had no idea you thought I was so handsome.”

“I never said handsome.”

“Really though, how do you stand it? How are you not bored blind?” he asked. She looked back up at him, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun.

“You know why, Draco,” she was serious. “I had my adventure. I had my excitement. If I ever see the inside of Auror headquarters again it will be too soon.”

“Hey,” Draco soothed. “I didn’t mean anything by it, just making fun.” She sighed and grinned.

“If you insist on talking about what I do, why don’t you talk about the fact that in four years, you’ve not once let me in your mouth?”

His body tightened unconsciously as a carnal heat spread like a firestorm through his nether regions. He swallowed. He wanted her in his mouth all right, he wanted to taste every centimetre of her.

“You can come in my mouth anytime, you naughty little minx.” His voice was rich and smooth like honey. It earned him a slap on the arm. The bad arm she had already assaulted.

“Oi, crazy woman! I’ve only got two of these, mind them would you?”

“I mean it!” she persisted.

“It would be weird,” he said lamely.

“Weird? Weird how? Draco, I clean teeth every day. I don’t understand what you have against me examining you.”

“Hermione, I’ve used dental charms and standard tooth brushes my whole life. They’ve not failed me yet, so I see no reason to let you stab at my gums with your pointy, metal, Muggle instruments.”

Hermione huffed.

“You just don’t trust me. I know it,” she turned away from him and headed north up the road.

“That’s not it, I just –” He threw up his hands in exasperation but obediently followed.

They began the trek towards what Hermione had called the “toob” station, which would take them just around the corner from the Leaky. The train, although Draco would never classify the recklessly fast tin can they rode in a ‘train’, had made him feel claustrophobic his first time in it. Now it was rush hour, and room to breathe was at a premium. He found himself crammed between the glass door and Hermione’s warm, pliant body. They had a ways to go before they reached Charing Cross Station. There were worse ways to die, he supposed.

At the stop for Westminster, Hermione began to fidget uncomfortably and her expression became pained. She leaned forward into the crook of his neck.

“Draco?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” he could smell her breath. It was sweet and minty. He fought the need to nibble on her pouty bottom lip.

“There’s a man behind me, he keeps… he’s very close and he’s bumping into me a lot,” she kept her voice low. He looked over her shoulder and sure enough, a middle age man in a trench coat with a hat pulled low to partially obscure his face was glancing suspiciously in their direction. Any closer and he could be wearing Hermione as a cloak.

“By bumping, you mean…” he gave her a pointed look, to which she nodded. She could see his jaw working, and what she at first thought was a quiet growl sounded more like a mumbled, ‘sick fuck’.

“Okay, hold on.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him, then began the awkward shuffling to turn them around. With her safely placed between the doors and himself, he could see her visibly relax. She gave him one of her small smiles, and he wanted to leap for joy when she didn’t push his hand away from her hip. He reached up with his free hand to touch her cheek gently, the pads of his fingertips just barely brushing her skin.

“Alright?” he asked, hovering just a breath away from her full mouth. She closed her eyes and nodded, soft pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Draco groaned internally and willed his libido to stand down. The last thing he needed was her feeling his burgeoning hardness and getting the wrong idea.

The mysterious goon saw them and frowned, turning away and moving slowly to the other side of the car.

At the Embankment the man exited, as did many other travellers, and with more space to stand Hermione slid past Draco to move into the open. He quickly masked his disappointment at the loss of contact. The train continued to barrel down the track towards their destination, rocking and squealing as metal ground against metal. A hollow voice kept reminding him to “mind the gap”.

Off the train, out of the station, and down the street, Draco could feel the familiar pull of magic as it thrummed and pulsated a few steps away from the Leaky’s entrance. He hadn’t been aware of the tension that had blanketed over him while he was in the Muggle world until it was cast off once he was safely back in his own.

He held the door open for her and she strode in, tossing her thanks over her shoulder. He was beginning to dread saying goodbye, as she would surely be making some excuse to leave him soon. He caught up with her in front of the fireplace as she peeled off her blazer and draped it over the crook of her arm.

She began to rummage through her bag for her wand.

“Well I suppose I ought to be going. I’ll need to go over these notes before Monday, and I really should –”

“Are you hungry?” he cut her off. She looked startled at his intrusion on her train of thought.

“What?”

“Have a bite with me,” he tried not to sound desperate. “Anywhere you want to go, it doesn’t matter. It’ll be on me.” Panic began to grip his stomach as she stared at him with an expression that clearly questioned his sanity. He could have slapped himself for being so eager.

“Are you alright Draco?”

Brilliant, now he’d scared her off.

“Wonderful. Just a bit hungry. I don’t fancy eating alone, you know?”

She bit her lip and cocked her head to the side as she considered his proposition.

Merlin, what was she thinking right now? He wondered. He was momentarily disgusted with himself when he realized this must have been how Weasley felt all those years, completely enamoured with his best friend and too much of a git to do anything about it. Their common problem put a sour taste in his mouth.

“Thanks, Draco, really, but I should get back to work. Can’t skive off the whole day now can I? A rain check though, I promise,” She closed the gap between them to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

He returned her embrace, pleasantly surprised that it felt more intimate than their previous friendly farewells. Perhaps he was imagining things, but he could have sworn that the rather firm rubbing of her breasts against his chest had been deliberate. No matter, he chose to soothe his recent rejection by believing it was. She pulled back, but not out of his arms.

“I appreciated you coming today, it was fun,” she kissed him chastely on the cheek. “And thanks for… you know, on the train. You’re the best. I’ll owl you later.”

Before he could say another word, she was gone. The emerald flames flickered and then died, the only trace of her that remained was the delicate scent of her perfume still hanging in the air where she had stood.

He quickly stepped into the Floo himself and went home, where he proceeded to have the most furious wank of his life, the vision of her cream silk blouse torn open and prim skirt bunched about her hips hovering in his mind’s eye.

 

 

He waited all weekend for her owl, any owl, to appear with a note from her containing the rain check she had promised. When he’d received nothing by Sunday evening, his mood had turned foul. He never should have gone with her to that stupid workshop. It was meant to be for her job, not some chummy visit. What had he been thinking? He stopped pacing the floor in his flat to bang his head against the wall.

He’d been thinking she was the sweetest, most brilliant person he’d ever met. He’d been thinking that if he couldn’t have her to himself for the afternoon, he would make sure no one else did either. He’d been overcome by every mundane memory of her that, when added up, led to the sum of reasons he was a complete fool for her.

Hermione curled up on her dorm bed at Uni, wearing black leggings and one of his baggy jumpers. Her hair piled in a messy knot at the top of her head, her reading glasses balancing precariously from the tip of her perfect little nose, laughing hysterically at something he’d said about a professor they shared, books forgotten on the floor.

Hermione barging into his room without knocking, bumping into him as he stepped out of the loo fresh from the shower. Him, frozen and unable to move in shock. Her, staring unblinking at his body even as she stuttered apologies and backed out of the room.

Hermione jumping up and down, tears of joy in her eyes as she held the keys to her very own dental practice in Hogsmeade, ready to open the doors for the first time.

Hermione, too nice to refuse him when he insisted on tagging along.

He recalled holding her through one or two painful breakups with men who didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her, and she did not hesitate to return the favour tenfold when his father finally died, cold and alone in his Azkaban cell. They had taken turns nursing one another back to health when one became ill, and he had it on good authority that she had him listed as her number two contact on her emergency file at St. Mungo’s. So maybe he wasn’t number one, but he was damn close, and he found that to be significant.

If all those reasons weren’t enough, his mother was quite taken with her, and Narcissa Malfoy did not simply ‘take’ to people. He was frequently asked, tongue in cheek, how his “little Muggle-born witch” was doing. Bringing Granger along to tea never failed to get him out of a multitude of scoldings for anything from tardiness to what Narcissa referred to as his “episodes of incurable depravity”.

He wrestled with sleep Sunday night, arrived to work looking haggard on Monday, and called in sick on Tuesday. Wednesday he lashed out at the representative from fiscal, Thursday found him berating HR, and Friday morning he fired his receptionist. Friday afternoon he hired her back. That same day he waited two hours at the café they often lunched at together, but she failed to show. Early Saturday morning he sat brooding at his breakfast table, trying to remember the last time in their friendship that they had gone this long without communication.

Yes, it was definitely something he had done. Or said. He wasn’t exactly sure. But he knew it was his fault, whatever it was keeping her away.

He continued to punish his grapes, stabbing and squishing them with his fork, when his Floo chimed indicating he had a call. He launched himself out of his chair, nearly vaulting over the couch to get to the fireplace. There she was, finally, her head in his flames. He knelt down to speak with her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied. It felt awkward.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked.

“Good,” he lied. “Busy.” It _was_ awkward.

“Me too,” he could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit and an easy tell. “Well listen, about that rain check for lunch I owe you?”

He instantly cheered.

“Great! Where do you want to go? Shall I come through and we can pop off somewhere together?”

“Actually, I’ve already promised the Weasleys I’d be at the Burrow for lunch today, and I thought perhaps you would want to join me? The boys mentioned a pick-up Quidditch match, and –”

“The Burrow,” he echoed slowly.

“…yes,”

“Right,” he deflated. He was certain that the sudden feeling of being lifted off his feet and slammed into a wall was the sensation one got when being violently thrust back into the Friend Zone.

The Weasley home. The apex of all things unappealing and sexless. A mecca of airheads and people who wouldn’t know romance if it hit them square between the eyes. Sadly, he had a feeling that he’d fit right in at the moment.

“Sure,” he conceded. “I’ll go.” He was miserable already.

“Perfect! I have so much to tell you about my week. Meet there in twenty minutes? Must run!”

She was gone in puff of green smoke and sparks. Dragging himself away from the hearth, he changed into a pair of denims and a worn tee shirt Hermione had given him many Christmases ago. He grabbed his broom just in case, and with a heavy sigh, Disapparated to the remote Apparition point down the dirt road from the Burrow. He took his time walking, but was dissatisfied with how quickly he found himself on the Weasley stoop, staring down at Molly Weasley.

“Draco dear! Lovely to see you again. My, don’t you look handsome!” she pulled him to her rotund frame for a tight hug before marching him through to the kitchen.

“Hermione, Draco’s arrived!”

Hermione came out from around the corner, a small child, he had no idea whose, clinging to her leg. She approached him and he bent to kiss her cheek in greeting.

“Hello, you,” he murmured. She blushed prettily but was pulled away from his heated gaze when the punk attached to her calves began to wail. Thankfully, the Weasley matriarch stepped in.

“Oh baby, baby, shhhh…” she began to coddle. “Come along Albus, come to grandmummy,” Reluctantly, the alligator tears ebbed to a quiet hiccup and the tot was carried away. “Join us round the back when you get settled, dears, there’s plenty to nosh on out here!”

Draco waited for the back door to slam before he looked back to Hermione again. He stepped closer, nearly closing the gap between them.

“Thanks for coming, I know this probably isn’t what you had in mind,” she said.

“Granger, when is the Burrow ever what I had in mind?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I had too many things going on this week and so many people I’d promised to see, and before I knew it I –”

“Don’t fret about it, it’s fine,” he fingered the soft, thin strap of her lilac sundress, his fingertips raising Goosebumps along her arm and shoulder, sending tingles up all over her body. “I was worried when I hadn’t heard from you all week. I thought perhaps…”

Warm chocolate eyes looked up at him questioningly.

“Thought what?”

The air around them was thick and hot and he struggled to get the words out.

“That maybe I’d said something,” he tucked a loose curl behind her ear, casually brushing her neck as he did so. She was shaking her head ‘no’, eyes wide, lips parted. “Or maybe I’d done something,” She swallowed. His thumb trailed down the line of her throat to the base of her collarbone.

“No –” her voice caught. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It wasn’t you.”

Before she could continue, a raucous calamity came barrelling down the stairs headed straight for them. Leaping apart, the pair watched as Harry and Ron fell off the landing and onto the kitchen floor, the two struggling for possession over what appeared to be a broomstick.

“Gerroff Harry… iss mine!”

“You had it last time! You know Gin won’t let me ride it at home!”

“Not my – oomph – problem!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at what was a scene she had seen too many times before. She waited with her hands on her hips for the boys to get it out of their systems. Draco raised a perfect eyebrow and cleared his throat with a purposeful ‘Ahem’. The hostilities stopped.

“Honestly Potter, I expect such a thing from Weasley but you can’t possibly tell me that this is the behaviour of a father.” Draco had his drawl back; all evidence of his desire to push Hermione against the icebox and take her then and there was gone. Harry stood and righted his glasses. From the floor, Ron gave Hermione a once over.

“Hey there Mione, you look good enough to – ow!” A plastic child’s cup rocketed off his forehead.

“Stop it Ronald. And get up before your mother sees you rutting around on the ground like a four-year-old.” She snapped. He rose to his feet, the full pout on his face making him appear oafish and slow.

“You don’t have a problem when he makes comments!” Ron made a rude gesture in Draco’s direction.

“That’s different,”

“No it’s not!”

“It is!”

“How so?” he demanded.

“Because I’m not dead from the neck up, Weasley. And I know a thing or two about women,” his tongue came out to wet his bottom lip before he caught it between his teeth. His eyes never left hers. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” Damn it if he wasn’t practically purring.

Harry made gagging sounds.

“You two make me sick,” Ron said, picking up the forgotten broom. “Quidditch?”

“Please,” Harry replied, eager to get away from his two friends that continued to make eyes at each other. “Shirts and skins then?” he proposed.

“I’ll be skin.” Draco added throatily, still staring at the lovely witch next to him. “Weasley, you’re a shirt.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. One, no one wants to see you without a shirt. Generally speaking, we’d rather not see you at all. Two, I can’t stand to be on your team, you horrendous loser.” His quips came without malice but the bashful redhead made for the door anyway, Harry close on his heels.

“I hate it when you do that, you know.” Hermione’s hand on his wrist brought him back to her.

“Do what?”

“You know they don’t understand how we are, you don’t need to make it worse.”

He moved nearer.

“How are we, Granger?” He was nervous and treading on very delicate ground. It would be so easy to tell her the truth, but so painful if she reacted badly.

“They weren’t there when we got to know each other. You… say things, to me. And you give me these looks like you want to… but I know you’re kidding around and don’t mean anything by it. That’s how you are with all women –”

“There are no other women.”

That surprised her. She was flustered. Draco could tell by looking at her that she was putting the puzzle together in her head, but if he knew his little bookworm at all, she wouldn’t say a word unless she knew her assumptions were correct. For him, it meant he was backed into a corner. Ultimately, he would be forced to be blunt.

“But, you take the Mickey out of me all the time, you don’t actually mean –”

“Don’t I?” He gathered his shirt in his hands and pulled it off over his head. He wadded it up and pushed the still warm material into her hands.

“Hold this for me, will you? Thanks love,” he tapped her gently on the chin with his thumb. He strode confidently out the back door, broomstick slung over his shoulder.

“Alright you mangy lot, who’s ready to lose?” he bellowed to group outside. Hermione couldn’t make out the words of the shouts and grumblings that followed, but they were all good natured and in high spirits. There wasn’t a single soul at the Burrow who would admit it aloud, but Draco Malfoy’s slow integration and semi-regular presence at the famous family residence had filled a space that no one seemed to notice had been empty all of the years gone by. In a home full of happiness and love, a little snark went a long way.

Hermione stood rooted in the place he had left her. Cautiously looking around and seeing no one, she brought the garment to her nose and sniffed. It smelled like him.

She’d die if he ever found out, but the last summer at Uni as they packed up their respective dorm rooms together, she had been forced to part with the jumper of his that she had coveted all three years.

Missing the comfort his smell had brought her each time she wore it, she searched high and low in every perfumery she could find, both magical and Muggle, as well as few apothecaries, but to no avail. Whatever his scent was, it could only be found on him. She buried her head in the fresh shirt now and inhaled deeply.

A chorus of people calling her name brought her back to reality, and back to the frightening fact that she was ignoring her friends to stand in Molly Weasley’s kitchen, huffing a man’s shirt like some deranged sexual deviant. Shaking herself, she walked round the back to join the others on unsteady legs.

Harry, all of the Weasley boys, and Draco had already begun their game, flying at speeds that made her stomach turn around a cheaply made pitch. A pregnant Ginny watched wistfully from the sidelines while her mother forced large helpings of food on anyone who stood still long enough.

“Hermione! Eat something before you blow away. You’re far too thin as it is, dear,” Molly waved a roasted chicken leg at her with one hand and thrust a plate at her with the other. She took it and began to load it with fruit.

“Molly, I’ve already gained nearly a stone in the last year. I’d say I’m a little too filled out.”

“Nonsense,” the older woman scowled. “Ginevra has just finally gotten to a healthy weight; it is high time you did too.”

“Mum, I’m six bloody months pregnant. Leave off her, alright? Mione’s always been healthy,” Ginny patted her arm in support. “And since you won’t eat it, be a friend and pass me that treacle tart.”

Hermione obediently passed the dish and joined the women on the cushioned seats under the shade umbrella. Fleur was busy crocheting delicate baby slippers, while Angelina, also with child, ate steadily from a cellophane bag of chocolates. The younger children rolled around happily in a playpen set up on the grass as the older ones ran circles around the buffet. It was just another Weasley family weekend.

From the air, Draco watched as the girl he had come to think of as his was fussed over and force-fed. His heart was racing in his chest but it was hardly from the game he was playing. If she didn’t have a clue how he felt by now, he may just have to throw her to the ground and snog the daylights out of her, consequences and Weasleys be damned. She had thrown him completely off his tracks in every way possible and it was past time for the charade to end.

Over the past week he’d been more aroused more often than he had been for the last six months, all whilst riding out the emotional storm that Hurricane Granger felt compelled to throw his way. Inadvertently teasing him was one thing, making him feel was another. He felt the insatiable urge to mark her in some way so that everyone would know she was his.

 _Marry her_. The thought was so brief, so fleeting that he tossed it easily out of his mind without thinking on it further. No, one thing at a time.

“Oi! Piss arse! You playing or not?” Ron Weasley flew down in front of him, waving a freckled hand in front of his face. Draco blinked twice and inclined his chin. He’d get the girl after he got the Snitch.

On the ground, Hermione listened passively as Molly provided a shakedown of updates on family members. Charlie nearly lost an arm when a Chinese Fireball snipped at him during feeding, but he was lucky and the mediwizards are confident they can grow his finger back. Bill is in line for a promotion that could put him back out in the curse-breaking field, much to the objection of Fleur. Percy remained as cold as ever, and Molly railed about the lack of time she was allowed with her grandchildren. If Ron brought one more trollop to a family dinner, he would be banished until he could learn to settle down, and thank goodness for angels like Ginny and the girls.

The afternoon slowly slipped away under the lull of gossip and petty chatter. By their own accord, Hermione’s ears tuned out the buzz around her. She watched the men not far in the distance, looking for one in particular. She found him immediately, his blond hair reflecting painfully in the dying sun. It shone only slightly more than the rest of his body, which had developed a glistening sheen from his expended effort. That sweat, she was certain, had an agenda of its own as it found its way to every perfect dip and definition of the muscles along his torso.

Her dress felt tight and her knickers damp as she remembered their earlier encounter. He had nearly spelled it out for her. He was interested. But interested in what? Sex? More?

She wasn’t sure.

She cared for him so deeply as a friend and beyond. If she were to be another notch in the belt or hole to be filled, it would devastate her.

She watched him touch down and hop of his broom, something clenched in his right hand. He strode purposefully towards her and waited for her to stand up. He left little room for her to do so, and when she did, it placed them intimately close.

“I brought you something,” he dropped a warm snitch into her hand. She starred at it wordlessly, studying its weight in her palm. “A thank you for taking such good care of my shirt.”

“You’re all sweaty,” she breathed.

“Yes.” He whispered back.

With her napkin in hand, she gently brushed the sweat back from his brow and combed her fingers through his damp hair. He reached out and tentatively touched her waist.

“Hermione,” he started. She jumped.

“Water! You must be thirsty. How inconsiderate of me. I’ll get some for you, shall I?”

In a flash she was out of reach, on her way back inside. He caught up with her, finding her bent over the kitchen sink trying to steady her breath. Grabbing her hips, he roughly turned her around and pinned her against the counter. One hand curved around her back as the other dove into the silky mass of hair at the nape of her neck.

“Hermione, please,” he took a shuddering breath. “It’s gone on too long.”

His eyes scanned the beautiful features of the face he knew so well. The only eyes he ever wanted to get lost in, her eyes, were squeezed shut. Her lips parted as if to speak, and Draco recognized the last opportunity he would likely get. In one swift motion, he captured the mouth that had tortured him endlessly.

She squeaked in surprise but yielded to his advance, her small hands grabbing at his back. Gods, she wanted this.

 _More, more, more_. Her mind was racing.

He touched his forehead to hers.

“Please…” he begged. Worked up from their first kiss, he was momentarily convinced that he could have breathed fire if he had wanted to.

She nodded and held tighter to him in anticipation of the side-along. The familiar feeling of being sucked into vortex made her dizzy but was not enough to quell the excitement of being kissed by the man she hadn’t dared to think could want her this way.

He was walking them backward, kicking things out of the way, as he moved towards his bedroom. He tasted her everywhere, drunk on the flavour and softness of her skin.

“Draco,” she mewed. Her shoes were gone, where did they go? Her dress was unzipped, how did that happen?

Draco looked up from the love bite he was leaving on her neck to gently cup her cheek.

“My gorgeous sweet girl…” he kissed her fully, his tongue seeking hers out to curl around it. He pushed, she pushed back. “I need to see you.”

He pulled at the straps of her dress and pushed it down where it caught on her hips. She flushed and raised an arm to cover herself. He shook his head. That wouldn’t do. He laid her back on his bed and covered her body with his own, pinning her arms over her head.

“I need to see you,” he repeated.

_Merlin strike me dead if those aren’t the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen!_

He was overwhelmed. There was so much of her to look at; he wished he could take her in all at once. As it was, he’d have to settle for a slow, burning exploration. He kissed the valley between her full breasts and around each dusty pink peak before taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud.

She moaned and bucked her hips up into his, thrilled at the feel of his large hardness against her mound. Draco kicked off his bottoms before roughly pulling her dress down the rest of the way, leaving Hermione bare save for a scrap of navy blue lace.

His lips followed the path his hand made across her smooth stomach and the curve of her hip. He didn’t bother trying to hide his glee at discovering that her most private area was devoid of almost all hair except for a narrow patch kept tidily trimmed. He moved to kneel between legs when she came out of her lusty fog to protest.

“Draco no, you don’t have to –”

He shut her up with a kiss.

“Granger, I have wanted to crawl inside your juicy little quim and stay there forever for too long. Now if I want to eat you until you cry, so help me I will.”

His words sent a new wave of excitement rushing between her legs. He resumed his work and began to lick her through the sticky lace of her panties. When he tired of the barrier, they were hastily disposed of. Hermione had a feeling she may not see them again.

With her finally completely naked to him, he spread her open and ate like a man starved. He teased her with short kitty licks and long laves with the flat of his tongue. His thumb worked her clit as he fucked her with his mouth, dipping into her hot core and eliciting noises neither of them knew she could make. Hermione rode his face with fervour until she came, stars exploding behind her eyes and evidence of her powerful orgasm covered her best friend’s lips. Smouldering eyes looked up at her from the apex of her thighs. A smirk, a raised eyebrow, and then:

“I told you, you could come in my mouth any time.”

He dodged a poorly aimed pillow that rocketed towards his head and chuckled. Before Hermione could catch her breath, two fingers were slipped inside her, and then three.

 _More, more, more._ Why couldn’t she get enough?

Draco had moved back on top of her, his fingers still working. Hermione felt a warm wetness on her thigh and looked down. His hard cock was leaking precum, awaiting entrance. Her eyes went wide at the sight of it. He was bigger than she remembered. Draco withdrew his fingers from her wet cunt and rubbed her release on her pebbled nipples, then took his time sucking them clean.

She writhed and arched into his ministrations.

“Tell me, Granger,” he whispered hotly against her skin. “Tell me you want me, love.” She whimpered and shook her head.

“No?” he asked.

“I don’t want you Draco, I need you. Please, inside me, now. Please, I need…” she cried. He entered her in one fluid motion, burying himself in to the hilt.

“Fuck!” he swore as her hot, tight pussy engulfed his swollen cock. He fought to keep himself under control as the woman he’d longed for undulated beneath him. He could not help salivating at the sight of her tits bouncing with punctuation of his thrusts. Not long after he raised her legs onto his shoulders, Hermione’s moans became more urgent.

“I can’t… Draco I’m going to…”

He increased his pace and reached down to rub at the pearl between her lips.

“That’s it, let go. Come, you perfect little witch.”

“Yes! Oh God, yes. Touch me!” her demands came out as breathy sobs of delight.

With a scream, she came apart, quaking around him. He waited until her cries died down before releasing her legs and flipping them over. He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him for a kiss.

“Ride me, love, please…”

She tightened her nether muscles with all her might, clamping her pussy around him in a vice-like grip. Draco groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head.

_Was there anything she didn’t do perfectly?_

Upon opening his eyes, he saw her, her hair running wild down her shoulders, touching and squeezing her own breasts as she bounced on him. The image was too much, and he felt his balls tense as his orgasm neared. He gasped and grabbed two handfuls of her luscious arse, pounding up into her as he came with groan, her name on his lips.

She collapsed on top of him, spent bodies melding together as their releases pooled between them.

Draco had never felt so satisfied from sex. He hoped she felt the same. He didn’t dare move, even tried not to breathe too loudly. He feared that a sudden movement could jar her. What the fuck was he supposed to say now?

He softened and slipped out of her slick channel. The action prompted her to prop herself up on one arm and look down at him sheepishly.

“I should clean up,” she rolled off him and pulled on a wrinkled shirt she found on the floor.

“Want any help?” he asked, fishing for his shorts with one hand. She gave him a small smile and shook her head. The door to his en suite shut with a delicate click and the taps to the shower turned on full blast. While she bathed he took the opportunity to straighten the bedroom from its precarious state, and fifteen minutes later, she emerged in his silk bathrobe, much too big for her small frame.

“Come here,” he beckoned her over to his perch on the edge of his bed. She walked over to him and he grabbed her by the waist to keep her in front of him.

_Buck up, Malfoy._

“Granger,” he took a deep breath. She suddenly looked as nervous as he felt. “I don’t think I can be your best mate anymore.”

She bit her lip.

“What I mean is, I can do better.”

She frowned. His eyes went wide.

“No! Not like that! I just mean… bugger. I can do better, with you, with us together. Let’s face it, I’ve always been a rather crap friend.”

She laughed.

“But this,” he gestured to the two of them. “This I can do. I know I can. Because you drive me so completely out of my mind for you that I’d do anything to keep you.” His thumbs stroked her gently over the smooth fabric. Tentatively, she placed her hands on his shoulders. Her small smile had slipped.

“I don’t fit, Draco.”

“Don’t fit? What are you on about? Of course you fit. You fit in my life, you fit… you know, how we just did. The robe’s a bit big, but I can fix that, look,” he wandlessly shrunk the garment her proper size. She did not appear to be impressed.

“I’m not your type. If a relationship was going to work with us, it would have happened ages ago. This is exactly what happened with Ron, and it’s exactly why sleeping with you was a bad idea.”

“Bollocks. Weasley is a nancy git, so let’s leave him out of this. The only reason this didn’t happen sooner is because you are bloody impossible to catch. You’re too quick. Every time I thought it was going somewhere, off you went like a fucking diricawl!”

“I did not!” she shouted, stomping her bare foot.

“You did too!” he yelled back.

“Oh really? Like when?”

“Dozens of times at Uni. You’ve brushed off every compliment I’ve given –”

“Compliments? Hilarious! Tell me Draco, when did ‘Hey Granger, lovely pert tits you have!’ become a compliment?”

“I was only saying you looked nice! And taking things out of context isn’t fair. I also said you looked fetching in that shade of green.”

“Yes, followed by a suggestion of what your Slytherin Snake would like to do to my Gryffindor Kitty.”

“I was making a joke. You can’t hold that against me. And your Gryffindor Kitty wasn’t complaining earlier.”

She ran her fingers through her damp locks and tugged, frustrated, on the ends. He shook her gently.

“Just let me try, will you? If it doesn’t work out I promise to let you hand me my walking papers without a fight.” She remained hesitant. “Okay, well why don’t you at least stay the night with me? I’ll order up some take away –”

“You don’t have a phone,” she pointed out.

“– you’ll order up some take away, and we can have a nice evening in. No obligations. Do you not want to be with me? Is that it?” She grimaced.

“No, no that’s not it. I just need to think.”

He nodded slowly and relinquished his hold on her. He could sense their conversation was going nowhere positive, casting a dark raincloud over his post-coital afterglow. Draco stood from the bed and walked around her to the doorway of the bathroom. He paused with his hand on the knob.

“I could really use a shower. I suppose that should give you a little time.”

She acknowledged him with a weary smile, and he softly closed the door between them. When he immerged freshly bathed from the steamy room thirty minutes later, his shrunken robe lay neatly on the bed, her clothes missing from the floor, and the Floo had already gone cold.

That night, Draco went to bed early, not bothering with dinner. He slept fitfully and woke frequently to feelings of anger and confusion. He spent the following day brooding, cursing his life, his luck, and the fact that all of the Galleons in his vaults would never be able to buy the one witch he wanted. By Sunday night, harried and completely exhausted, he finally had an idea.

 

 

Late Monday morning found Dr. Hermione Granger, DDS, running behind schedule in her small but functional and finely decorated dental practice. She was knuckle deep in Roddy McShane’s mouth when her receptionist poked her head into the exam room for the umpteenth time.

“I’m sorry to interrupt Dr. Granger, but your 12 o’clock appointment has arrived.”

Hermione grinned triumphantly as she finally managed to dislodge a chunk of red, crystalized sugar from the boy’s bicuspids. She took a deep breath and wiped her brow on the sleeve of her fitted white lab coat.

“Please tell them they’ll have to reschedule. It’s going to be at least another twenty minutes now.” Elsa the receptionist hurried away.

“Iack sawie,” the boy gurgled.

“Don’t be sorry, Roddy; it’s not your fault. But we will need to have a talk about crunching on those blood pops, won’t we?”

Roddy blushed and nodded. Before Hermione could pick up her tools and get back to cleaning his teeth, Elsa was back.

“He says he’ll wait Dr. Granger.”

Hermione huffed. There went her lunch hour.

“Fine, fine. Whatever he wants,” she turned on her polishing tool and went to work righting the damage done by Roddy’s hard sweets habit. Soon she had finished, the teen’s teeth as sparkly and clean as they were going to get. She ushered him out towards the lobby, a new toothbrush and appointment slip in hand. She quietly slipped into the supply cupboard for a reprieve. She sat down on a wobbly old stool and leaned her head against the wall.

Her morning had been absolutely bonkers. Her very first appointment of the day was a chatty woman who wouldn’t stop moving her mouth long enough for her to get any actual work done, effectively making her late for her next patient, a nervous man in for a root canal. He had required multiple kinds of anaesthesia, and even after injecting twice the amount of local anaesthetic than she usually needed, his hypersensitivity still gave them both problems throughout the procedure. Her third patient was an awful little girl who made her want to vow off children, and poor Roddy was going to rot those teeth straight out of his head if he didn’t overcome his affinity for Honeyduke’s finest.

Elsa had told her that this next appointment was a new patient, which could go either smoothly or, following the pattern of the day, terribly wrong. The only miniscule bright side was that she had been so preoccupied trying to avoid disaster, she hadn’t had a spare moment to consider her problem with Draco.

A knock on the cupboard door startled her and she jumped up, hitting her head on a shelf full of toothpaste and effectively causing an avalanche of boxes and tubes to rain down on her.

“Just a moment!” she called. “I’ll be right with you,” she struggled over the debris and straightened herself, smoothing her coat and refastening her hair. She stepped back out into the hall, but saw no one. She looked left, then right, and saw Elsa make finger-pointing motions towards her exam room.

Ah, she realized, her next patient was in there.

She plucked his file from her inbox and strode confidently into the room. Her exam chair faced away from the door, only affording her a view of the back of his head until she entered fully.

“Good afternoon, I am Dr. Granger, and you are –” she flipped open the folder and read _Malfoy comma Draco_. Her eyes immediately snapped up to the man in the chair, looking as sheepish and unsure as she’d ever seen him.

“– you are…” she trailed. His silver eyes held hers.

“Completely in love with my dentist.” He finished.

For a minute neither moved nor spoke. At last, Draco stood up and cautiously approached her.

“I never should have given you the opportunity to walk out my door,” he began. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to turn away.

“Draco, don’t…”

“No, Hermione. Let me finish. I never should have allowed you the chance to leave again because that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve let you walk out, again and again, without saying anything. I let you leave without knowing. I teased you and didn’t make it clear why. That was my mistake.” He swallowed hard and took her hand.

He squeezed her petite fingers in his larger ones and, when she squeezed back, he gathered the courage to continue.

“You’ve always been my best girl. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more often. But now… now I want to see you every day, and I want to make Weasley sick for a different reason. I want to be able to tell my mother what she has already known for years, that you’re the only one for me. And I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Please let me do that, Granger. Please.”

She was thinking about what he’d said, he could tell. Her face softened and her eyes were turning slightly pink as moisture collected in the corners. She blinked rapidly and cleared her throat.

“Yes,” she smiled. His face lit up and he beamed down at her. He tried to pull her into his arms to kiss her, but she held back. “On one condition,” she said.

“Anything. Whatever you want.”

“Get back in the chair. I’m going to finish your cleaning, and I don’t want to hear one word about my pointy, metal, Muggle instruments.”

He chuckled.

“Yes, Dr. Granger.” And then he kissed her.


End file.
